


Sherlock meets Death (again and again)

by Phabitat



Series: Death and Sherlock [1]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidents, Cat, Childhood, Closets, Cripple Mr Onion, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Minor Injuries, Multi, Mycroft mention, Physics, Supernatural Elements, Ysabel mention, dark humour, skulls - Freeform, swings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phabitat/pseuds/Phabitat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes finds Death as his constant companion. At least whenever's he's pulling stunts to prove he's clever which is always, ergo, the companion. First meeting - The Swing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Swing

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's most famous creation, nor does BBC1, but the latter gets paid whereas I do not, just merely dream. Moving on, the same applies to Sir Terry Pratchett's Discworld creations.

The first time that Sherlock Holmes met Death was as a child.

He was experimenting ( what else?) on The Swing.

The Swing deserved the capital letters being the archaic but sturdy type that hung from the branches of the tall beech tree outside his grandmother’s house. It had jute ropes and a seat of planking worn smooth by housing the bums of past generations. The current descendant was swinging himself back and forth, carrying out an experiment about pendulums and parabolas. (Mycroft’s physics textbook lay on the grass by his feet) .

 

_The child had seen an older human perform a trick on a swing last week in the park._

 

The swing took him higher as the breeze ruffled through his errant curls. Now came the tricky part – the theory of parabolas. If he timed it right, at the very apex of the upward drift all he had to do was let go and – fly…

 

_A somersault in mid air! of all the stupid fixations in the human world._

 

Darkness.

When Sherlock opened his eyes, he could see the world in shades of gray and purple. A world currently being peered at between his legs. This struck him as odd as he couldn’t feel any strain on his hamstrings (he learnt that through another ‘borrowed’ book on anatomy) nor could he feel any pain elsewhere though he clearly fell off the swing. A few adjustments later, he sat up and blinked slowly.

This was not The Swing, though it deserved the capital letters. The ropes were black like licorice strings and the seat was a curious charcoal black. No, ebony he realized running his hand over the rough planking. His ears caught the grass rustling.

 

ATTEND TO ME SMALL HUMAN

 

It was a deep voice that went straight through your head and down your spine, did a triple somersault then completed the circuit again. Sherlock lifted his head.

 

THERE HAS BEEN AN ERROR. RETURN FROM WHENCE THY CAME.

 

“I can see right up your nostrils.” The child observed. He thought for a bit and added. “Can I get my nose to look like that?” Death sighed as Sherlock focused cross eyed while jabbing his finger against his nose.

 

STOP THAT

 

Surprising himself Sherlock obeyed.

 

DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU ARE STILL HERE?

 

Sherlock shrugged, gazing around with mild interest.

 

Death tried another tack.

 

ER..YOUR MATERNAL RELATION WILL FIND YOUR ABSENCE MOST DISCONCERTING.

 

“So?”

 

YOU DONOT SEEM VERY FRIGHTENED SMALL HUMAN.

 

“Why should I? You’re not scary. You don’t even make woo-woo noises.”

 

That was the problem when dealing with children. They didn’t develop the mental screens that adults used around the reality of death. It was jarring and altogether embarrassing to be on the receiving end of their curiosity. He could read this one at a glance. Impressive vitality, lack of fear and total boredom. A deadly combination, if he may employ the pun.

 

NOW PAY ATTEN-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

 

Sherlock seated himself on the swing that overlooked Infinity.

“Push me.” He ordered imperiously.

 

_What did humans call a past experience that occurred all over again irrespective of time and space? Déjà vu! Ysabel sitting on the swing, chubby legs swinging, pleas of “Puth me Father” Eyes of frosted blue that stared from the past into the present._

 

VERY WELL. .JUST ONE PUSH…

 

"-himself off. He’s lucky his skull didn’t crack open like a melon. Master Sherlock? Are you awake, dear?”

 

The worried faces around his bed grinned in simultaneous relief. For a moment they looked like skeletons set in permanent grins.

 

“Did my skull really crack open?” he asked dreamily.


	2. The Cat

The second time that Sherlock met Death was on purpose.

The cat wriggled spiritedly in the young boys arms. Half an hour ago, the ginger tom was wandering with a melancholic air down the passageway when Sherlock abducted it. Several scratches later, he was left brooding on the rashness of his decision. 

Soft murmurs from the bedroom down the hall indicated that the priest was still listening to the final confession of his ailing parishioner, Liam O’Brian (84), head gardener of the Holmes Estate. His relatives were milling around the modest cottage, some whispering amongst themselves and others just staring into space. The same dreary, everyday sounds of a busy household now made a little quieter with the presence of the unwanted yet expected Visitor. No one knew that they had another unwanted and unexpected visitor hiding in the spare closet.

The ginger tom suddenly ceased cleaning himself and began to purr loudly.

Everyone knows that animals can sense the supernatural. As Sherlock powered up his paranormal detection monitor, a wave of delicious excitement flooded his veins from the lethargy of the long wait. The AC magnetic field LED screen entirely failed to light up while the cat still purred loudly. A modicum of doubt infested the boy’s mind for the first time since he began the enterprise. The future boded ill with repeat lectures on Inappropriate Social Behaviour and Breaking and Entering slipping in cat napping for good measure. What a waste of a perfectly good afternoon he thought sighing with disappointment. 

A second, deeper sigh joined a moment later.

WELL THIS IS AWKWARD

Sherlock jumped, twisting around in the dark like an adagio dancer and incidentally knocking over a bucket and mop to the floor incidentally making the cat yowl in terror.

HELLO AGAIN

“-!“

Which was not what Sherlock meant to say, but he had been caught by surprise. He felt a little light headed as he watched the cat curl its way around the bony ankles hidden by opaque dark robes. A bony hand dug into a hidden pocket and produced kitty kibble. 

THERE’S A SATISFACTORY FELINE…NO..NO…ONLY ONE TREAT PER KITTY. IT IS THE RULE.

“You don’t register on the magnetic field…”

OH NO… 

“-and yet the cat picked up on your presence. ah...you carry an expensive brand of cat food which rules out hallucination and addresses the fact that you are the caretaker of at least six individual breeds of cats not the pedigree variety, definitely mange on two of them judging by the scanty hairs on your ankles and the smear of lime sulphur-“

Death snapped his fingers. Sherlock tried speaking again and found he has lost his voice. 

THAT IS BETTER. NOW CHILD ATTEND! YOU ARE NOT THE FIRST TO TRY AND LURE ME HERE FOR YOUR OWN PURPOSES THOUGH I COMMEND YOU ON THE ORIGINALITY OF THE METHOD. HUMANS TEND TO USE DRIBBLY CANDLES AND OUIJA BOARDS AND OTHER USELESS FLIPPERY. 

He paused before adding with as much dignity as the sentence itself deserved.

AND I HAPPEN TO LIKE CATS 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and found he could speak again.  
”That’s why cats can see you? dull.”

SO SORRY FOR NOT MEETING YOUR HIGH STANDARDS OF DIVERSION

“And you’re still not scary. I don’t understand the fuss everyone makes about you.” 

NO YOU WOULDN’T. NOT YET.

“What does that mean?”

AT WHAT POINT DOES THE SUPPLY OF OXYGEN IN AN ENCLOSED SPACE FAIL TO SUSTAIN THE HUMAN MALE?

“Well, it depends on…oh.”

When Sherlock came around, he was supported by strong arms and hysterical female voices in the background moaning about catnapping and cruel and shameless children of all things. Wasn’t there a dead man in this house? 

“What was the time?” he asked tonelessly, dispensing with the social niceties and giving in to blatant curiosity.

“Tis past 4:30 –“

“No, no” he said irritably. ”Your father. What was the time of his death?”

This earned him a curious look from Samuel O’Brian, (Liam’s eldest of five children builder by trade father of three and chain smoker by age eighteen). The hairs on Sherlock’s neck stood as he sensed a presence walk out of the corner of his eye. He could have sworn he saw the blue spark wink.

“Son, my father’s fine never felt better he says. As fer you. Well, its no’ picnic being holed up in a closet with a deid cat now isn’t it?”


	3. The Companion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild language and innuendo

-AND A GREATER ONION IS FIVE PICTURE CARDS AND FIVE ACES.

The single candle flame flutters in the dark while the cards were distributed.

AND AS I RECALL YOU MUST DEAL A NINE CARD RUNNING FLUSH TO TRUMPH THE GREATER OR LESSER ONION.

“Blackjack with elements of Poker.”

ASSUMING YOU ADVANCED THUS FAR TO GAIN A TEN CARD FLUSH.

“Dull.”

Electric blue eyes glowed within the sockets of the grinning skull (1).

Then he sighed and examined his cards.

The candle light threw Death and his companion into sharp relief from the rest of the room which happened to be Death’s personal office. Death did not often get mortal visitors into his realm, except for the morbidly curious, the recklessly brave and cats. Sherlock Holmes shared at least two characteristics with the aforementioned while bearing a passing resemblance to the third.(2)

“A-hem”

A short crab legged figure nudged open the door holding up a tray.

“Tea, Master?” Albert glanced disdainfully at the boy. ”And for yer _guest_?”

THANK YOU ALBERT

The thing is, he thought as Albert handed him his cup (“You’ve been dead for a long time”) there was no actual rule that barred mortals from his realm. (“Still breathing aren’t I? now what will yer have?”) Mortals down the ages had resorted to incantations and dribbly candles to summon him for bargains. They snarled or begged it didn’t matter in the end. (“Black coffee , two sugars please”) It never went well. (“Foul muck! It’ll stunt yer growth”) The same old games with detailed rules and addendums that left no room for loopholes when the stakes were high.(“What an astonishing hypothesis based on hearsay and idiocy, I’m surprised you can talk and breathe at the same time”) Some mortals though, liked to play the game for the games sake.

“Master!” said Albert breathing heavily.

HMM?

“Permission to clip our honoured guest round the earhole for cheek.”

Death frowned and lowered his cup.

HOW ABOUT SUGGESTING ANOTHER GAME INSTEAD?

“What happened to the usual ones? Don’t tell me-“ he gasped .”You mean he - “

Albert rounded on Sherlock who was investigating the viscosity of the custard creams with the jammy dodgers. “You finally beat the Master in a game!” He exclaimed with awe. ”How did a little tick like you even manage it?”

ALBERT

“The odds of that happening are a million to one. The last person who tried that-”

ALBERT

“Come one then, what was it? Immortal life? eternal riches? wimmin? Bit young for wimmin, you ain't even dropped your-”

ALBERT

“Are you quite finished?” sighed Sherlock, rubbing his curly locks in frustration. ”You’re teetering dangerously close to boring for an ex wizard. An ex wizard who’s supposed to be dead.”

“Now none of that, young sir” Albert cooed. ”just making conversation though I am curious. Why are you still playing cripple Mr Onion if you won?”

I HAVE NEITHER WON NOR LOST A GAME YET ALBERT

“What?”

AND NEITHER HAS MISTER SHERLOCK HOLMES

“What were the stakes?”he asked.

“I want Death as my assistant.” replied Sherlock calmly.

Albert’s mouth worked wordlessly before releasing a bark of laughter. ”That’s a good ‘un. And what about me you cheeky little bugger? I’ll be out of a job”

Sherlock frowned. “Death doesn’t have any requirements. He’s not human. He’s not even alive technically speaking.”

Albert sucked in his breath as Death stomped dramatically out of the room.

“Now you’ve done it.” He muttered at the sound of the distant crash of the backdoor. ”You didn’t have to upset him, you know. He gets sensitive about these things.”

“Sensitive? How can an anthropomorphic personification have feelings?”

“Why d'yer want the Master as an assistant anyway?”

“I asked you first.”

“Why pick the Master? who are you compared to Him? you literally throw yourself into his path several times over, he puts up with your frankly idiotic whims out of a frankly misplaced sense of humour and now he’s sulking because you’ve gone an' upset him. So yes, he does have feelings you little sod. Now answer mine.” He growled.

Albert and Sherlock were in a deadlock, trading eyeball for eyeball. Albert had longer experience than the boy though who reluctantly broke eye contact, pursed his lips and stared at the infinite ceiling for five minutes. ”Because he’s not an idiot” he said finally.

Albert nodded.(3) and sidled towards the door.

“You can see yourself out.” He said ”I’ll be in the garden getting out the beekeeping gear.”

“You chose to be here.”

Albert paused, hand on the doorknob.

“I don’t understand. I thought Death was the last enemy. Why would you choose to be here with him?”

Albert smiled over his shoulder. ”Come back when you get yourself a friend.”

 

Sherlock woke up in his bedroom. As his heart slowed its rapid pace, he looked over the contents of the room to reassure himself. The periodic table on the wall, bunsen beakers interspersed the stuffed bookcase and his cluttered desk. He could hear the faint snores of the other boarders down the hall. A family portrait caught the sliver of moonlight drifting through the drawn curtains. It was the only personal item in the room because the cracked glass frame had to be replaced.

“A friend?” he whispered to himself in the dark.

 

(1) The ultimate poker face.

 

(2) Such as the uncanny ability to be in places he should not be. Such as Death’s mansion. Or his beehives. He suspected the boys true genealogy   

 

(3) His eyes didn’t soften but something feral definitely sheathed its claws.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The italics are DEATH's observations separate from his thoughts.


End file.
